


The Ancient Ones

by MilkMeToo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkMeToo/pseuds/MilkMeToo
Summary: Malice and vengeance have brewed for years as old rivals clash once again in a powerful new way. An Overwatch story with elements of lycanthropy, witchcraft and vampirism.





	1. Reinhardt

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is planned to be spoken in the viewpoints of various characters, similar to the vein of Game of Thrones. Please feel free to leave feedback and ideas for future chapters!

A wolf howled, worried in the background, and a threatening omen for the otherwise tedious evening of carting more travelers across the haunted forests of Eichenwalde. He’d seen the type of his current fare before—aloof, distrustful, and yielding purses that rattle mockingly with every step while good, hardworking people throughout the realm went hungry. Still, he needed the money, and mercenary work hadn’t been the same for years after the war, not to mention his advancing age. He shivered vigorously, wrapping his fur cloak tighter around his shoulders as he signaled for the pair of horses to continue their canter. 

He had been running wealthy traders and aging nobles between cities for dozens of moons now, his reputation as a seasoned hunter and old veteran preceding his travels in-between cities, and keeping business moving along nicely. He also loved to travel, finding the old roads comforting in a way that stagnation could never be, the smell of petrichor hanging heavily in the air after a long drought had broken with a summer storm being one of his more treasured memories. Tonight’s weather, however, held no comfort to him, and the chill rattled his bones to the core as an early winter settled in weeks earlier than predicted. Crops had withered with frost before the great harvest, and many throughout the realm were turning to odd and illegal work to keep their bullies full with what little food had been stored. Mostly, illegal poaching had increased, but most townsfolk avoided the forest like the plague. He sighed, irritated with the cold, and a steamy cloud billowed behind him as the horses began to whinny nervously. Curiously, an ominous shift settled in the air as the forest seemed to become much, much darker than only moments ago. Static buzzed around his ears, and he looked up through the thicket of trees to make out a full moon being overrun by fast-moving and thick clouds.

Without warning, a loud crack of thunder boomed above, and the lightning strike that followed bolted an old oak tree three paces to the left of the cart, sending the horses into a riveted frenzy as they jerked to avoid the burning limbs. Reinhardt yelled for control, but to no avail. The cart struck a large, unruly root and flipped haphazardly onto its side, the travelers inside yelling for assistance and control. He jumped from the cart before it hit the ground, landing with a thud loud enough to accompany the man’s impressive weight. 

He moved quickly—quicker than a man his size should move, and lifted the cart easily with strong arms made for heavy and dangerous work. One of the travelers, a woman of no more than 35, crawled from the wooden beams hurriedly; her companion, however, would not be so lucky, and a warm pool of blood began trickling from the wood as thickly as blackstrap.

“Amelie…” a man’s voice groaned, heard but unseen, “please…take it…” The young woman looked towards the darkness of the veiled cart, tears staining her cheeks as she reached out for a vial of dark red liquid that emerged from within the cart. She popped a cork into the glass for safekeeping, and slid the vial gently into the leather satchel attached firmly to her hip. A soft gasp could be heard from within the cart as the man’s life faded, slipping silently throughout the wind and into the stillborn air.

Reinhardt, for all of his credit, watched with contained sorrow as he began to piece the picture of the ill-fated couple together. The young woman continued to weep while the man’s hand fell limply from the cart, restraining herself with shock as she squeezed her hands together and clutched at the satchel yet again. Reinhardt began to move towards the woman for comfort, but after only a few seconds, an uneasy silence filled the air as the woman’s tears halted—her gaze transfixed on a pair of devilish yellow eyes that had illuminated within the trees above. 

The horses, not far, could be heard whickering loudly before a sickening shriek filled the air with menacing promise from above. Reinhardt, all too familiar with the monstrous sound advancing towards the cart, swiftly grabbed a large war hammer from behind his seat on the cart, and shoved the woman back into the wagon with her late companion.

Without hesitation, he swung the hammer upwards as the yellow-eyed monster moved, attracted strongly by the scent of crimson, the bloodied and fractured door of the cart swinging precariously on broken hinges. Amelie yelled in a language that Reinhardt hadn’t heard in years as his hammer connected squarely with the monster’s ribs, sending the creature sprawling several feet into the air before a powerful blast of energy spurred from within the cart. The creature disintegrated almost immediately before Reinhardt could bring his hammer up for a second, finishing blow. 

The horses, having discovered no route past a large thicket of thorns, sprinted back into view as Reinhardt checked on the woman from within the wagon. He moved cautiously, setting the hammer down next to the door as he mumbled softly under his breath, “Amelie… come here.” Silence filled the forest yet again, but Reinhardt knew he had to move, and quickly, lest more fiends discover their location before they could escape. When no sounds of moment occurred, he broke the door from the wooden frame and flung it into the embers of the shattered tree behind him. The smell of blood and smoke quickly reached his nose, and he reached for the powerful witch who appeared to be woefully unconscious. 

He whistled, and the older of the horses, Winston, moved to him, a fearful determination dancing across his eyes. Reinhardt set the woman onto Winston's back, and tied her into place using an old rope he found within the wreckage. Once he was certain she was stable, he spanked the horse’s haunches, sending him bursting out of the forest and back towards where they had come. The second horse, a filly named Orisa, galloped past him once she noticed her companion’s departure, whinnying loudly as another monster could be heard closely behind the group.

With no horse and very few resources available to him, Reinhardt began cursing in his mother tongue. He began removing his shirt, his favored cloak being wrapped carefully into a leather bag and stuffed into the hollowed hole of an adjacent tree. His infamous hammer, Ehre, was launched into the limbs of the holding tree as he removed the rest of his clothes. He shivered as the cool wind whipped across his bare chest, and felt his bones rumbling deeply from within his skin. An old but welcoming feeling of strength enveloped his mind as his legs elongated and grew joints where none had stood previously. His teeth narrowed to hard points, and fur began appearing along his naked form, warming his bones and inspiring movement. With few large bounds, he moved quickly from the wreckage as several hideous monsters appeared closely behind, magnetized by the scent of death, large talons ripping mercilessly into the wooden frame and seeking the body of the recently deceased. 

A lone tear fell unceremoniously for the dead he had to leave behind, and he sniffed at the air for the scent of his horses. He moved swiftly throughout the woods, stirring with hurry, large muscles straining from the effort. Hastily, he located the scent of the horses, turning his body towards their location and increasing his pace as he did his best to ignore the bloodied frenzy from which he had narrowly escaped.


	2. Angela

The night was bitterly cold, almost tauntingly so, with many townsfolk retiring early from their chores to enjoy the warmth of the local pub. Angela sighed. With the frost landing so swiftly, the first snow wouldn’t be too far, meaning that more locals would soon be knocking on her wood for medical assistance. Although frostbite would be the least of her worries, the harshness of the cold struck her nerves, and she sensed something merciless at play. 

Beyond the walls of Eichenwalde’s southern district, the forests loomed menacingly, a bitter breeze wafting through on the back of the wind, and subtle growls rumbling in the distance. She withdrew her hand from her pocket and snapped brusquely, igniting a torch and lighting the passage for wayward travelers unlucky enough to be traversing through the trees so late at night. As the town’s veteran healer, she did not need to worry herself with the lighting of the torch, but it was a job she continued to volunteer for night after night. Old habits die hard, she mused.

With the torch lit, she peeked out through the town’s southern gate, wondering if anyone would be returning in the evening. Upon her mental query, she heard a gruff neighing, close enough to be concerning and easily identifiable. There was only one horse she knew with a sound so sternly alert.

“Fareeha! Come quickly!” she yelled without hesitation across the square. A cloaked figure, waiting patiently near the pub, perked up immediately, and started running towards the witch.

“Yes? What’s wrong?” the young wolf yelled as she neared the gate. She knew well enough that Angela was a playful person, but the urgency of her request had her immediately on edge. She ground to a halt near the wooden beams of the door, placing a hand steadily on the bow laid across her muscled back.

“I heard Winston. Something must be wrong with Reinhardt’s latest charge.” She ground out, the deeply disturbing smell of burning wood and flesh flying through the air on the undercurrents of the breeze, making her cough and curse.

As if on cue, Winston was seen galloping hastily towards the town with Orisa in tow. The warhorse was a meaty breed, built for power, but also possessing a keen mind and a beautiful, black coat. He moved gingerly, despite his size, and as he neared, Angela and Fareeha could see something strapped haphazardly across his back. Orisa whined as she neared the gate, the filly not nearly as used to dangerous circumstance. Reinhardt was nowhere to be seen.

Once the pair reached the gate, they ground at the women with the hooves, eagerly offering the bundle to the witch. Angela and Fareeha opened the gate wide enough to accommodate the pair, but Fareeha, worried for her long-time family friend, offered to stay near the gate in case he appeared.

Angela led the two towards their stables, conveniently located close to the gate, but otherwise abandoned. As she strode towards the stable, she took a careful look at the bundle attached to Winston’s back, grumbling with concern once she recognized that it was a human.

Winston immediately kneeled once inside the stable, offering the bundle to Angela as easily as he could manage. Although Angela did not have the easy strength of a wolf, she had spent moons crafting the persnickety skill of magic, and was more than capable of inspecting the charge on her own. Snapping her fingers once more, the ropes untied themselves adeptly, curling near a corner for future use, and Angela moved the woman to a late stable keeper’s bed.

Angela could hear a small commotion outside, but set her mind to inspecting the curious woman in front of her. She was pale, lithe, and covered in blood, but she didn’t appear injured or otherwise in any noticeable harm. Her clothes spoke easily of wealth, yet she carried with her an old satchel that was easily several decades old—very odd considering the annoying habit of nobles in the realm, hastily discarding any items showing wear in favor of shinier trinkets. The shrewd witch immediately noticed the vestiges of errant magic on the woman’s body, a smoky film enveloping the room as soon as Angela had removed her plush robe and clothing. 

She gasped as she removed the satchel and studied its contents. Aside from a vial full of what appeared to be fresh blood, many small herbs and bones were clasped neatly in organized rows with odd markings etched into their sides. Angela glanced at the face of the young witch before touching a large scar that had ingrained itself within her back, shaped sublimely like a spider. She had been marked. And recently.

The healer undressed the young woman further and replaced her clothes with thick furs wrapped in herbal remedies to help ward off the smoky signal of uncontrolled magic. If the woman was truly capable of magic strong enough to leave traces, but didn’t full realize her potential, they would certainly have their hands full when awoke.

After she finished her inspection, she turned her attentions towards the two nervous horses. Clearly, whatever had happened had spooked the wits from the two, and she supplied them with water and food to help calm their nerves. Something was certainly amiss, and she hoped that Reinhardt had survived whatever massacre had almost certainly occurred.

As if on cue, Reinhardt and Fareeha slid quietly into the stable, Fareeha holding her cloak over the man’s naked frame. The inadequacy of the cloak would have otherwise been humorous if his face had not looked so concerning. He had changed forms—that much she could tell—but she could also see that a full press on the night’s happenings would only further any damage that the old man had endured. She pulled a satchel of herbs from within her robes and began brewing an herbal remedy, heating the concoction with her hands and wits.

The old man did not look up. He took the tea gingerly and moved to pet his horses, visibly relieved that they had made it back to the village without harm. Next, he moved slowly towards the sleeping woman, kneeling at her side and staring at her face inquisitively. Mentally, she said a silent prayer, thanking the gods that the young woman’s power did not turn towards Reinhardt during whatever scuffle had befallen the two.

After a moment, Fareeha moved towards Reinhardt, impatient and ready for answers. 

“What the hell happened out there?” she questioned, a muffled look of curiosity and stress painted on her tanned face. Fareeha had known Reinhardt since she was a child. His usually jovial features were currently strained with guilt and something else. Whatever had occurred had clearly shaken the man Fareeha had once thought infallible. Angie knew what this level of discomfort could do the mind, and the wolfish woman seemed bristled with frustration and irritation when he took some time to gather his thoughts, but she did not interrupt. 

“They’re back,” he cryptically whispered. “Those talons… there was no mistaking those talons… or the eyes… I thought they were all dead…” he trailed off, shaking his head, before he moved past the women and back towards his horses. 

The room fell still, and Angela felt as if the coldness of the night had penetrated her very soul. There was no mistaking just who ‘they’ were. The shapeshifters that hunted solely at night, preying on innocent townsfolk for sport, not for sustenance. Their presence, once a scourge on the realm, was thought to have been destroyed long ago during the great war. The strategy of their efforts centered around starving a town of its resources so they had to travel the forest to survive. The village of Eichenwalde had only recently begun to recover heartily before this year’s damning frost. If they were actually back…

Angela frowned, deep lines worrying across her brow as she struggled to comprehend the potential ramifications. Food supplies were already low. Horses were rare enough to come by. Young men and women—children, even—didn’t stand a chance of a healthy life if the realm was plunged into chaos once again. She hastily made herself a cup of tea to steady her tensions, and the room fell into silence once more.

“I won’t question your judgements, Reinhardt. If you believe that the Taloned have returned, we need to alert the Watch immediately.” Angela replied, slightly peeved that she couldn’t offer more. She refilled his cup with more tea and brought him another blanket. He took both items, nodding his head in thanks, before bundling himself tightly between the two horses. 

The mysterious young woman groaned, alerting all three of her watchers instantly to her presence. In the shock of the news, they had forgotten her cryptic presence. She did not wake, however, and Angela sighed, her mind clouded heavily with thoughts that would not desist. Fareeha moved towards Angela and wrapped an arm around her comfortingly. 

“Her name is Amelie… I’ll stay and watch her.” Reinhardt said, a look of concern on his face. “She had the opportunity to hurt me earlier, but did not. And I do not want to leave Winston or Orisa tonight.”

Angela nodded, but Fareeha was more resolute in her protection, offering to stay the night with him in the stable. With so little horses and the open space near the village’s edge, it wouldn’t be any issue. And Fareeha did not like the idea of the young woman waking without warning and harming the man she considered a second father. 

The man upturned his head, staring at the ceiling a moment in consideration, before nodding once, twice. He laid down gently between the two horses before saying goodnight to the two. 

Fareeha, still a little miffed at the situation but respectfully agreeable to Reinhardt’s silent terms, dragged a second bed towards the edge of the stable near the crew as Angela laid lavender across their area of the stable, and garlic above the doors. She found a couple of old blankets and dusted them before placing them on the bed. 

The stable was cold, but Angela was instantly heated once she slipped into the bed with Fareeha, sharing blankets and body heat out of habit and necessity. They moved closer together, the familiar pull of her arms comforting and calming to her in a time of mental unrest. 

“Sleep tight, my sweet,” she mumbled, before drifting off. Fareeha had always been able to fall asleep on a moment’s notice, something she says to have picked up on her nights in the forest. Angela, quite the opposite, laid there, enjoying the security of her lover’s arms, but mentally unable to sleep. She groaned, unable to turn her eyes away from Amelie, laying still across from them. 

She snapped her fingers together quietly, casting a slumbering spell on the room to keep the woman, and herself, asleep until the sun’s rise. “Until morning.” she whispered before feeling her eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come this weekend! Stay tuned and feel free to leave comments of what you think might be happening next!


	3. Jesse

He aimed a pair of light, brown eyes at the odd man seated before him, blown into town with the promise of a hot meal and a new market for his squirrelly explosives. He wasn’t a large man like the other standing nearby—quite the contrary, he was rather thin, sickly so, and carried a grin wider than his shoulders on a face too spastic to be strategic. The man was, however, stupidly lucky, and his grotesquely large friend who hadn’t said a word yet lingered silently brooding over his shoulder as he watched the game unfold. 

Jesse McCree wasn’t the smartest man in the room, but he could read strangers better than any other man he’d met, and in a game of poker, none would be the wiser to his trademarked poker face. After several hard losses and of having his pockets wiped nearly clean, he’d been forced to throw the rest of his purse into the pot for one final, foolhardy effort to regain his winnings and leave with his reputation intact. The two men, strangers to the realm but already making quite the name for themselves, were the first in a very long while to give Jesse a run for his money.

He flicked an ash from a cigar into the tray set beside him as he laid down a four-of-a-kind, ace high, and watched his foe’s face astutely, waiting for any sort of reaction to his near-impossible win. 

The smile on the skinny man’s face withdrew sullenly, and he fish-mouthed breathlessly as realization dawned on him. “How…? Well, yer cheatin’ mate!” he asserted, clearly agitated that his lucky streak had finally run out. He laid his hand down, a full house, not a bad hand, but not enough to win.

The man behind him finally broke his silence, pulling a flask of what appeared to be whiskey from his belt for a drink before murmuring, “Seems like a hustler to me.”

“Yeah, yer right, Mako… He’s a cheat!” The smaller man rose from the table, pointing a long and slender finger at Jesse and knocking several empty glasses of liquor from the table.

Jesse sat silently, not moving a muscle and squinting fiercely at the two, before a wide grin spread over his slightly whiskered face. He flicked the remnants of his cigar into a nearby fireplace and shrugged, signaling for the barkeep to bring another round of drinks to the table in an effort to calm the scene and prevent a bar brawl. 

“Listen, gents. I’m nothin’ if not honorable these days. How ‘bout a last round of drinks on me before retirin’ for the night?” Jesse drawled good-naturedly, making no move to collect his winnings or break eye contact with the two men before him. He tried smiling charmingly, a move that would otherwise be disarming if not for the hostile outcome of their game.

“How do we know you didn’t cheat us? A four-of-a-kind is one of the rarest hands in the game.” The large man rumbled, banging his flask down onto the table with a resonant thud and easily drawing the attention of the rest of the Inn towards their table. Citterns stopped plucking, men stopped chatting, and women whispered quietly amongst each other with curiosity dancing at the corner of their eyes.

The bartender and Inn owner, a clever and serious man named Hanzo, moved intently towards the table with a bottle of rum, cruel resolve on his eyes as he sized the three men up. Jesse winked at Hanzo, drawing no reaction from the man, but Jesse silently cheered in glee at the promise his eyes held for later. He was such a glutton for punishment. 

“Do not be insolent in my bar, men. Jesse may be annoying, but he is not cheat. Now, take your free drinks and retire to your bedchamber. I will not tolerate this pointless sense of violence over a fair game of cards.” Hanzo set the bottle of spirits onto the table and turned his gaze solely towards Jesse as a mischievous smirk played across his lips.

“I will see to it that Jesse also pays for your stay this evening in retribution for his idiotic behavior.” Hanzo grabbed several golden coins from the pile for both the rum and their room before turning heel and chuckling as he walked away.

Jesse, instantly annoyed at the man but otherwise incredibly entertained, grumbled under his breath before raising the bottle at the two men in cheers. 

The thin man looked between Jesse and Hanzo quizzically before laughing gregariously at the situation. He grabbed a glass from the floor, filling it from the bottle of rum and pocketing a couple of gold coins from the pile. “Winner’s tax towards the poor, mate! Tradition where we’re from,” he shared, smoothly taking the drink before grinning widely. Jesse tipped his hat towards the two before downing his own drink. Mako, the large man in the back, put a meaty hand on his flask again and gulped. 

“Let’s grab our things and get, Jamison.” The bulky man spoke gruffly, grabbing a couple of coins as if he had played as well and all but verbally daring Jesse to challenge his decision. 

Jesse frowned, but otherwise accepted their foreign terms, figuring he had nearly doubled his purse tonight by any measure. He grabbed a leather bag and began sweeping the coins into it before cleaning up the table and watching the odd couple head upstairs, Jamison cackling all the while. 

He sauntered over to the man behind the bar, a coquettish look etching itself on his face as he slapped the leather bag, cards, and glasses onto the wood. Hanzo looked distinctly unimpressed as he continued drying a glass with an old rag. He raised a brow at the card shark and opened his mouth to fire a retort before the door to the Inn all but flew from the hinges. An icy breeze swept the Inn, tempering the flames in the fireplace and darkening the atmosphere of the room. When no one entered the Inn, Jesse palmed a small dagger hidden behind his robes, and moved silently to the door. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed Hanzo nocking an arrow, a wooden bow held tightly in his grasp as he jumped easily onto the top of the bar and waited patiently.

As Jesse neared the door, he caught a hint of acrid smoke on the trails of the draft, and he narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip upon the calming steel of the dagger. The rest of the patrons of the Inn had disappeared upstairs, doors slamming obnoxiously as Jesse was reminded of the cowardice that was present within the Inn. Nearly to the door, he peeked outside from behind a frame, before several pairs of yellowed and harsh eyes centered themselves on his presence. 

Without warning, a small explosive detonated in front of the door, and Jesse jumped out of the way of the shrapnel and behind an old, stone wall. Jamison could be heard yelling erratically upstairs, and Jesse’s eyes widened when he saw a large and familiar shadow fall from the second story and begin pummeling a yellow-eyed demon with a rusted and merciless chain.

Jesse sprinted from the Inn, throwing a well-aimed dagger at a demon that had flanked Mako, but instantly found himself pinned to the ground with a talon burrowing deeply into his shoulder. He screamed in shock and pain, first at being caught by surprise, and secondly at the serrated claw burrowing deeper into the flesh without pause. An arrow whizzed dangerously close to his head, and he yelled again when the creature on his back suddenly slumped forward, an arrow lodged fully through the back of its head and out through an eye. Blackened blood dripped thickly down his dusky cloak, mingling oddly with the color of his own bright red blood. 

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed a second dagger from his boot and rolled over, severing the monster’s hand and standing with the talon still ingrained within his shoulder. He glanced up, attempting to get control over his surroundings. Jamison could be seen tossing more objects into the air from the second story, and Jesse ran for cover as another explosion sent bits flying into a fourth and final monster, skin flaying and burning from the impact of the explosive. Mako, apparently used to being hit by shrapnel, laughed heartily as he stood over the dead monster and removed its head, using the strength of his limbs to render flesh from bone in a quick and practiced motion. 

A creepy stillness settled, surrounding the men as they processed the situation, and Jesse groaned in pain. He rubbed his shoulder gingerly, being supremely careful not to disturb the talon in his back, yet an insidious poison could be felt swirling around the wound, and he leaned against a nearby tree for support. 

Mako began shuffling towards each monster for their grotesque heads, and Jamison soon emerged from the Inn for assistance. The slender man moved awkwardly as he gathered several small sticks for kindling and a few logs of deadwood. He threw the items in a pile near the pale bodies before striking a match on a metal boot that Jesse had not noticed earlier. Mako tossed his flask of whiskey to the man, and he poured the remaining contents onto the wood before throwing the match zealously into the pile. He squealed with glee when the wood caught almost instantly, and Mako began throwing the heads of the creatures into the flames, the stench of burning flesh soon overtaking the senses and casting an eerie glow upon the Inn standing dissonantly within the background.

Jesse could feel strong and supportive arms holding him closely, and he soon noticed that Hanzo was removing his clothes, laying his cloak carefully on a tree as he began chanting an odd phrase in his native tongue. Internally, he could feel the poison circulating throughout his body, and Hanzo grabbed his chin and look at him pointedly.

“You need to change. Now. I’ll remove the claw as you go along.” 

Jesse blinked, and an old fear began stirring within him. He hadn’t reverted to his other form since he was a young wolf in his old and rambunctious pack, killing and maiming being a core tenant of his personality then. He blinked again, and the cruel thought of losing his control and harming the others terrified him. 

Hanzo, sensing the man’s uncertainty, kissed him deeply before laying one firm hand on the back of the creature’s hand, and the other on Jesse’s cheek, murmuring, “Stay with me. You can do this.” 

Overwrought with emotion, Jesse closed his eyes and began thinking deeply. He thought of his skin, so awfully soft and weak, thought of how small and tender his bones were, thought of the vengeance he felt towards the monsters that harmed him, tried to kill him. He thought brutally of Hanzo being maimed by one of those creatures, those beautifully dark eyes crying with pain and rage. Memories of suffering and agony gripped him, and he felt his bones shift with a sickening pop as his mindset continued its train of otherworldly thoughts. He could feel the talon being removed stiffly as hair began spreading across his body, soaking his frame in a protective warmth, and he opened his eyes, now a pale red color, the color of the blood spilling across his back as the poison slid out acidly.

The man standing before him stood shock still. Jesse could remember him, he thought back to passionate nights filled with harmony and desire, and he sat on his oversized haunches, culling the feelings of revenge that fueled his transformation. The large wolf closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the acrid smell of the smoke distracting him further from his fury, the sounds of the night surrounding him, centering his mind and providing control.

Mako and Jamison, having watched the transformation, stood without movement, the smoke of the fire obscuring their vision. Jesse peered at them after a moment, suddenly angry at the thought of nearly losing his money to the two due to sheer dumb luck, the recent memory infuriating and ruining his calm mood. He growled lowly at the pair, digging his claws into the earth for comfort. Hanzo moved towards him gingerly, laying a hand on his back and centering Jesse’s erratic mind.

“Go back to the Inn. Slowly.” Hanzo ordered the two men, before adding, “And truly… thank you for your help tonight.” 

The pair, usually quite sure of their combative abilities, slinked quietly back to the Inn, closing what remained of the door of the aged tavern once inside. 

Jesse kept returning his focus onto Hanzo, his mind staying under his control with the stability that his partner brought to him. He thought fondly of him, that the man before him balanced his playful nature with seriousness, his cleverness with sheer intelligence. He inhaled intensely, collecting himself, and moved towards the back of the Inn with Hanzo at his side. Hanzo pulled a key from his robe and fixed it into the wooden door of a wine cellar. Swinging the old, stilted door open, aged metal screeching with effort, Hanzo motioned for Jesse to enter first. The wolf moved obediently, finding a chair inside and lying beside it.

The archer moved into the cellar and grabbed a bottle of his finest wine, removing the cork with an arrowhead and drinking deeply from the glass. Jesse watched him curiously, slightly miffed that he couldn’t partake. Hanzo never let him have any of his wine!

“We’ll need to return to town and alert the Watch in the morning.” Hanzo said after drinking nearly half the bottle. He popped the cork back into the neck lazily before setting the bottle on the chair, choosing to sit on the ground next to the wolf, and nestled a hand into the chestnut brown fur of the animal before him.

Jesse simply closed his eyes and waited out his change. In his current form, memories of yesteryear returned, and he shivered with lethal anticipation about the surprising return of the creatures. Hanzo’s steadying presence calmed his mind after only a moment, however, and it wasn’t long until he could feel sleep pulling at the edges of his mind, the events of the night slowly turning into bittersweet memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get into it more as the story progresses, but Reinhardt and Jesse are both wolves with differing levels of control of their abilities based on age and previous use of them. I'm also a Junkrat main and HAD to throw in some nonsense for his "combative abilities." Stand there, throw explosives, checkmate.


	4. Lena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena makes a new friend as she makes a trek back to the city.

Lena whistled absent mindedly, sweeping up broken shards of glass and drawing the debris into a neat pile. She’d been co-owner of A Night Inn for nearly three years now, meeting Hanzo during a chance encounter after he was nearly mugged and killed by thieves. After assisting in their capture, they had chosen to open a business together using the bounty received. The Inn was a quaint and warm little spot located on the outskirts of the city, closest to the winding Serpent’s Tongue River, and not far from the main, largely isolated entrance from the so-called haunted forest. 

A bright twinkle caught her eye, and she kneeled to examine a small piece of gold that had fallen beneath a floorboard. Prying the floorboard up, she smiled softly at a hoarded pile of trinkets, a raccoon having nested within the wooden boards, undoubtedly attempting to escape from the frosty evenings that had plagued the realm. She grabbed a piece of hard tack, smearing the biscuit with a bit of peanut butter, and offering it to the rascal. 

The raccoon, curious yet cautious, reached a small hand towards the treat, keeping his eyes glued onto Lena’s all the while. He grabbed at the morsel eagerly, shoving it into his mouth before disappearing beneath the floorboard and into the cellar. 

A yowl could be heard under the Inn, and she ran outside towards the cellar, finding a very confused and naked McCree running from the cellar door trailed by Hanzo. The raccoon chittered angrily at the two men, running after the two from within the cellar, before scurrying up a tree and hiding beneath the orange leaves and sturdy branches.

She had returned back to the Inn during the day’s break, having journeyed on a supplies run that took her deep within town. The trip typically only lasted a couple of days, but with such scarce supplies, it took nearly twice the effort to locate a suitable amount of food and drink to keep the tavern running for another half-moon.

When she returned, Hanzo and McCree weren’t in their room, and all of the guests had checked out, a small pile of gold thrown helter-skelter amongst the oaken bar. The only patrons remaining were an odd pair of travelers who were still fast asleep, seemingly oblivious to whatever had happened late in the night. She hadn’t noticed the smoldering pile of coals and bones until Jesse, suddenly aware of his nakedness, bolted for the woods and past the wreckage. 

Hanzo shook his head, walking briskly towards her.

“You’ve returned,” he deadpanned. She was used to his curt nature, but given the mess within the tavern and the literal pile of bones in their clearing, she thought he might’ve offered a few more words without her encouragement. 

“Yeah… brought back some goods. What the bloody hell happened?” she questioned, grabbing a small stone and tossing it into the smoldering embers. 

“The Taloned have returned. Did you see Angela or Fareeha when you were in town?” 

“They were near the outpost last night, not in the city proper.” She scratched her head. It was the first time in a long while that she’d heard even a rumor about the old coven’s whereabouts. Known to have been destroyed decades ago by the Watch, she never gave a thought towards their return and what it could mean. The brightness of the sun dimmed a bit at the news, but she held her chin up confidently. 

“To the Watch we go, then. Fareeha and Angie are expected back in town by morrow’s eve.” 

“Then we’ll leave within the hour. We need to make it back to the city before words spread throughout the commonfolk.” Lena nodded, a bit irritated at Jesse for disappearing. 

As if summoned by thought, he emerged from behind a tree, wrapped protectively in his old cloak. It wasn’t until he gave her a small smile that she noticed his slouch, the deep circles underneath his eyes, or the way his back cracked as he walked. 

“Bit worse for wear, yeah? Let’s get you some tea,” she offered, before heading back into the Inn. She didn’t want to pry, and she knew his second nature was a touchy subject for the man. Instead, she placed a small, iron pot over the fire and filled it with water, as well as a satchel full of chamomile she had just purchased at the market. 

The aroma lifted pleasantly from the pot, and she pour three cups of the liquid into small mugs that had recently been cleaned. Hanzo and Jesse entered the Inn, the latter moving a bit eagerly than before, and Lena was unexpectedly thankful for their presence. If the Taloned had indeed returned, she did not wish to travel unaccompanied again, despite her speed and skill with a short-sword, and especially after the setting of the sun. 

The three drank their tea in silence, the crackling of the fire and the skittering of the raccoon beneath the floorboards providing echoing without the usual chatter found in the Inn. The large fire waned in the hearth, and she stared blankly at the embers, thinking about their next steps and a new list of materials to pack. 

A door opened above, and two men descended the stairs, eyeing Jesse warily before sitting at the bar. When neither Hanzo nor Jesse made a move to service them, she rolled her eyes and stood up, taking her drink with her. 

“What can I do ya for?” she asked, studying the pair. 

“Whatever they want, it’s on the house,” intoned Hanzo, who had moved from the table towards the group. Lena quirked an eyebrow at her business partner inquisitively. 

“Jesse and I likely would not be here if it weren’t for Jamison and Mako,” Hanzo said, clasping his hand on the back of the larger man, Mako she learned. Lena, thinking this to be the weirdest exchange of the season, nodded in acceptance, and moved to fix up a plate of eggs and toast for the men.

Hanzo chattered idly with the pair, offering them a place in their travels if they wanted to go along, and otherwise notifying them that the Inn will be closed until further notice. Jamison, the skinny one, kept glancing at Jesse over his shoulder, a queer look in his eyes. He busied himself with his plate of food, muttering his thanks as he tried to steal some toast from Mako’s portion. The big man stabbed Jamison with a fork, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to make his point known. 

After finishing up their food, Hanzo cleared the plates and began moving all of their alcoholic items down to the icebox in the cellar. She wasn’t sure when they would be back, but she hoped that the drinks would remain upon their return. 

When Hanzo wasn’t looking, she left a pile of honeycomb, biscuits, and a small piece of ham on the floor of the cellar for her new, furry friend that she mentally named Hammond. The raccoon watched her with interest, but remained silent, a keen look of trust glimmering in his eyes. She smiled at the small creature before shutting and locking the cellar door, figuring that he could escape if needed through other means. 

Mako and Jamison agreed to journey with them back into the city proper, offering to help carry their supplies as long as they helped them avoid the law when they returned. Hanzo shrugged, as did Jesse, and Lena just ignored the pair entirely after that. 

They moved quickly, packing up what food and supplies they needed, and shouldering their clothed packs. Jesse complained merrily about his shoulder, but Hanzo merely smiled at the man before giving him a kiss on his cheek. He set afoot on the trail that ran through the woods, aiming to reach the city by dawn. Lena brought up the rear, offering to alert them of danger. She was by far the quickest of the group, and could outrun danger the easiest should they be flanked. 

As they began their trek, she heard a rustle between the trees above her, and she glanced up into the branches. Small, beady black eyes, surrounded by dark circles, peered out at her curiously, and she giggled, holding up a piece of honeycomb she had been snacking on and offering it to the mischievous creature. The raccoon scampered down the branches and landed softly onto Lena’s pack, chittering angrily at Hanzo and Jesse while grabbing a piece of the honeycomb and licking at it between yells. Lena laughed merrily at his antics, and scratched him behind the ears as he settled for comfortably on around her shoulders. Although the world may be plundered into darkness once more, she could still appreciate the simple and entertaining moments around her.


	5. Gabriel

The air was cool and dusty, a potent reminder of days back home, days spent as a child basking in the autumn winds that surrounded the countryside with a breezy blanket, the taste of too many canned apples coating his tongue and fueling his boundless energy. The memory disturbed him, irritating him further in the midst of an already foul evening. 

Groaning, he emerged from his makeshift bed, situated neatly in the back of a small cave located nearby the winding Serpent’s Tongue River, not far past the great stone wall that separated Eichenwalde’s residents from the rest of the realm. 

He felt their deaths intimately, a nagging presence in the back of his mind. Four more of his newly turned having been slaughtered messily in the middle of a square, an unexpected match with two unknown travelers carrying too much gunpowder at their disposal. The disposal of his younglings egged at his already fraying ego, and he stood up hastily, knocking an empty vial of blood from a wooden stand and sending it crashing noisily to the floor.

“Ay, keep it down over there, will ya? Some of us are trying to sleep,” yelled Olivia.

“Go back to bed, Colomar,” he growled, not in the mood for any of her usual taunts. He kicked the remnants of the broken vial under his bed—he’d deal with the mess later.

Uncharacteristically, Olivia obeyed, rolling back over onto her side and speaking several curses in their shared native tongue. He rolled his eyes and moved towards the entrance of the cave, a sliver of moonlight shining radiantly through and reflecting peacefully off of the river’s gentle wake. The scene would have been immensely pleasurable to enjoy had it not been for his soured mood.

He moved to the river’s edge, listening keenly for any possible movement amongst the rustling of the trees, and jumped onto a low hanging branch jutting out over the tranquility of the water. A young deer, no bigger than a two pointer, moved brashly towards the stream, rutting season putting the fledgling buck on edge. The small deer lowered his head and began drinking deeply, completely unaware of the danger that lurked above.

Gabriel dropped unhurriedly, almost lazily from the branch, long and deadly talons slashing expertly at the buck’s throat. He grabbed the animal’s head as it yelled painfully, snapping the neck briskly to put the poor creature out of its misery before biting hungrily at its exposed and bloodied throat. He drank deeply, warmly, and without pause, until the blood began to run dry and a wicked coolness settled over the scene. He looked momentarily at the deer’s placid eyes before lifting its body effortlessly and throwing it into the woods for scavengers. 

The pain at the back of his head slowly subsided, the previously stabbing beat losing momentum, and he breathed out a tangible moan of relief from the ache. A changing breeze carried the smell of old yet familiar blood towards him, and he jumped into the trees once more, moving swiftly towards the scent, yellow eyes shining brightly and illuminating a passage through the branches.

After moving through several leagues uninterrupted, he came to a clearing marked gloomily by an old oak tree, its jagged and blackened trunk seemingly struck within the past few evenings by a large bolt of lightning. He lowered himself from the branches and moved towards an old wooden cart laying in pieces, its remnants scattered amongst the path. He inhaled deeply, wits overcome with the smell of an old friend, and he paused, letting his senses paint a picture for his curious mind.

A ray of moonlight streamed from the trees above, and he looked up, a shiny and ill-forgotten hammer resting haphazardly in the branch above. Inhaling, he growled lowly, the scent of a mighty and threatening warrior clouding his vision and evoking hatred yet fondness in the old reaper. Ignoring the obnoxious gleam from the shining, silver metal, his eyes traced an invisible passage from the tree towards a piece of black fabric jammed purposefully within the tree. A grim smile stretched across his teeth, long fangs dropping with spit, as he removed the worn cloak, grasping the familiar fabric between his talons and humming thoughtfully. He wrapped the cape around his own, identical mantle and turned around to examine the rest of the path. 

The bits of wood strewn about were marked rather messily with old blood, the original scent that attracted him to the passage, and he knelt to examine a gnawed upon bone. Minor runes were etched into the femur, and he closed his eyes before letting out a frustrated snarl. 

Gerard… perhaps undone by my own creations, he thought bitterly, before grasping the femur in his hand, careful not to let his claws etch out any of the patterns. But where’s Amelie? An air of old yet powerful magic surrounded the clearing in a murky haze, and he inhaled deeply, trying to catch any whiff to help him locate the lost necromancer.

When no signs came to him, he set about his next task, grabbing a forked tree branch and moving the hammer from its hold within the branches. He was immensely careful to avoid any touch of the holy silver weapon lest he wished to cause a painful searing upon his skin. He continued prodding at the hammer, until it fell with a heavy thud onto the ground and amongst the wreckage. Smirking, he kicked a pile of bony remains onto the weapon before uttering a strange enchantment under his breath. Within moments, the bones disintegrated into a smoky haze, and a soft, red glimmer appeared around the edges of the pile, before the hammer caught alight with a mystical purple flame. Although the weapon did not show any signs of wear or melting, the enchanted blaze continued to burn without aid, casting a strange and eerie glow upon the pathway. 

The shadow leapt back into the branches, clutching the bone carefully within his grasp as he began his trek back to the cave. He moved with hurry, as the moon began its descent behind the looming mountain range, and the earliest morning riser began chirping merrily at the beginning of another day.


End file.
